


Scorpius's Sign

by trash_kid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Break Up, F/M, Miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:14:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26042515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash_kid/pseuds/trash_kid
Summary: Hermione asked for a sign. It was written in blood.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 31
Kudos: 136





	1. phone call

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone I hope you're all doing well! So this story isn't for the faint of heart, I think, especially if you are pregnant or have children because it deals with the whole pro-life/pro-choice debate and I don't glaze over the events leading to a tragedy. I ask you to proceed with caution! You have been warned hehe :) 
> 
> That's all, enjoy reading!

Hermione’s phone blared, jerking her awake with a startled gasp.

She looked around her, noticing that she had _once again_ fallen asleep while watching kids’ cartoons. The bowl that had earlier been full of grapes was now tilted and empty, and the round violet fruits scattered across the floor, having been toppled over in her sleep.

“Bugger,” she mumbled. She bent over with great difficulty to pick them up when her phone rang again. Her head pivoted to the coffee table, and she wondered who exactly might be calling her with a Muggle cell phone. It was Ginny Potter.

“Gin?”

“ _Hey, Hermione,_ ” Ginny answered.

“Hi,” she said, getting off the couch to sit on the floor where she could pick up the grapes much more easily. “You’re finally using that Muggle cell, huh?”

The girl at the other end of the line chuckled. “ _Yeah, I’m getting used to it. Harry says it’s more convenient, and I have to agree with him. You know, he taught me how to download these things called apps where you can play games!”_

Hermione smiled.

She continued, “ _Harry’s also given one to Dad. Imagine his amusement, Hermione! He’s practically_ fused _to his phone! Won’t let go of it, even in the loo.”_

“Addictive things, phones are. Just make sure James doesn’t get his hands on them.” Hermione reached under the couch to retrieve some more fallen grapes.

“ _I know._ _Too late for that, though,”_ she replied. “ _Harry says he wants the kids to know all about Muggles, just as well as the Wizarding World.”_

Hermione chuckled at her friends’ antics. “Good luck. Harry’s a stubborn one. I’m sure you know all about it.”

“ _Yeah.” She paused. “He’ll be in Bulgaria with Ronald for two more weeks, and I really miss them. Harry more than Ron, but don’t tell him I said that._ ” Ginny chuckled. “ _And… and what about_ him _? Does_ he _use a Muggle phone as well?_ ”

“I did give him one, but he’s still hesitant because… you know, it’s a Muggle contraption. Doesn’t know if he can trust it, apparently.” She chuckled softly.

 _“Right, right. Erm, so… how-how are you, Hermione?_ ”

 _Uh-oh. A hesitant Ginny is never a good sign,_ Hermione thought. “I’m great. Currently picking grapes off the floor—you know how hard it is when you’ve got a massive belly.”

“ _Good, good,_ ” She cleared her throat and paused before asking, “ _Is he treating you well?_ ”

Hermione winced inwardly. _There it is_. 

After all these years, none of her friends approved of her relationship with their once-enemy. Instead, they did the bare minimum of tolerating him whenever he was around… which wasn’t a lot. He, too, avoided them at all costs. She didn’t blame them, however. The man in question hasn’t given anybody much reason to believe he _has_ changed. “He is,” Hermione replied. “We’re happy.”

The silence on the other end of the line lasted precisely seven seconds. And then quietly, Ginny mumbled, “ _still no plans to tie the knot, though_.”

This time, Hermione sighed audibly. “Gin… I–I dunno. I really don’t want to–to pressure him into anything.”

The married woman groaned. “ _It’s been eight years, Hermione. Nine next week, and you’re already carrying his child—_ ”

“I know,” she snapped, and it came out a little bit harsher than she thought. “I know… more than anyone,” she said more gently. “I just… I understand that his views on marriage are different from ours. To him, marriage is just something people do when they want to benefit from each other’s… I dunno, wealth or ancestors, I guess. No love, whatsoever. I don’t even think his parents even loved each other.”

“ _Look… can I be frank?_ ”

“Go on.”

“ _I mean it… I’m about to cross a line. Are you sure?_ ”

“Lay it on me, Gin.”

“ _Right, so…_ ” she trailed off, pausing for two breaths. “ _We just think that… he doesn’t care about you as much as you do, Hermione. And you… you’re so brilliant and beautiful and kind and everything that he’s not… you deserve better._ ”

Hermione nodded, having expected something like this since Ginny’s caller ID appeared on her phone. “I… I know that that’s how it looks. But he really is different around me, Gin. He’s tough, and sometimes crass with other people, but when we’re alone, he… he bares his soul.” 

In her mind’s eye, she saw a memory of herself and Draco lazily eating ice cream in each other’s arms on the couch while watching cartoons. Draco stained her cheek with chocolate ice cream, and she didn’t let him get away with it, smearing it on his forehead in return. That eventually escalated into a full-on ice cream fight… and then a snogging session in the shower as they cleaned up. “I do believe that he will change, and I’m sticking around for it.”

Ginny was silent, but Hermione could practically hear her grimace on the other line. “ _We just want to see you happy, sweetheart._ ”

“And I am. Really, I am. Don’t worry about me. Draco’s… he’s… well, I love him. And I understand that he’s a work in progress, but so am I. Just trust me when I say that he’s treating me well, and we’re happy.”

After the phone call ended, Hermione felt the slightest bit gloomy. The truth was, she envied Ginny’s relationship with Harry. Not Harry himself, no. Harry was only a friend to her. Instead, she craved how they were both almost always on the same page in terms of their marriage. She could only hope that Draco would—

No. Hermione stopped that train of thought with a shake of her head. She wouldn't want to be unfair to him. She respected his decisions. They had already talked about this. Draco wanted nothing to do with the whole institution of marriage… but she was secretly hoping that little Scorpius would change that.

Hermione sighed and collected the last grape on the floor. She wobbled on her knees, using the grey couch as leverage to get up. She reached for the remote control on the table and turned off the telly. The yellow talking sponge disappeared before her eyes. 

Draco and Hermione, though unmarried, have been living together for eight years. Hermione refused to move into Malfoy Manor with all its sinister artifacts, ghosts, and secret passageways... not to mention the fact that Draco’s aunt tortured her in the drawing room. So Draco had agreed to live in her Muggle, two-bedroom flat. 

She sighed and walked to the bookshelf. If there was any reason to regret _not_ living in the Manor, it was its extensive library. Draco’s family owned a library, and it was practically bursting with books… or so she was told. She hasn’t actually set foot in that house since the war. It was times like this when she imagined what the library would look like. A haven for bibliophiles, for sure. Especially those who had a penchant for a little bit of Dark Magic on the side.

Her index finger grazed the spines of old books. She had read all of these books at least thrice before, so she knew exactly what to expect. She blindly selected a brown one with water-damaged pages and sat back on the grey sofa, perching the book atop her protruding belly.

She hadn’t been reading long when she frowned and put it down. Actually, she hadn’t been reading _at all_. Her eyes swept over the inky words, but her mind lingered on Ginny’s phone call. She couldn’t help but think… if her friends thought he was hopeless, then..

No. Draco isn’t hopeless. Every time he looked at her, she saw, clear as day, that he loved her back. It didn’t matter to her that he hadn't told her verbally, because he showed her. That was all that mattered. 

Besides, once Scorpius was born, he would soften. She had a feeling.

Hermione shut the book and placed it on the sofa with a soft _thud._ She caressed her stomach, smiling when Scorpius gave a faint kick. Hermione gasped at the suddenness.

“I can’t wait to see you, darling,” she whispered. “You are going to be the most loved little boy in the whole wide world. You’ll want for nothing, and you’ll be so happy, you’ll share the happiness with everyone around you. I love you so much.” A single tear trickled down her face, dropping on her belly.

“Your daddy loves you too, darling. He doesn’t know it yet, but he loves you very much,” Hermione said.

Melancholy hit her hard. When Draco had found out his girlfriend was pregnant, he thought she was crying tears of despair instead of joy. He had then arranged for her to terminate the pregnancy because of this misunderstanding, but Hermione firmly rejected it. She wanted this baby. She had never been more certain of anything in her life. It was proof that they loved each other so much, the love overflowed and spilled into another human being. Draco, however, was less accepting. Growing up, he always knew it was his duty to become a father. And the more this idea was forced onto him, the less he wanted it. It also didn’t help that his own father was the exact opposite of what fatherhood should look like. He wanted nothing to do with the late Lucius Malfoy. Being associated with him was something he very dearly loathed. As a result, the pair have had many an argument over this baby, but Hermione remained unshaken. 

“Speaking of daddy, he’ll be home soon,” she said, glancing at the clock. “What do you say, Scorp? Want to make him a special treat?”

He kicked back.

Hermione chuckled. “That’s my boy.”

She went to work on a hearty Shepherd’s pie, mumbling her thoughts to the baby in her stomach.

By seven in the evening, Draco flooed home carrying a big bag of what Hermione realized was money from Gringotts. He was evidently exhausted, sighing as he hung his robes on the coat hanger.

Hermione approached him. “Welcome home,” she said, reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss him. “How was Gringotts?”

“Wankers, the lot of them,” he said sourly, removing his overcoat. “There was an issue with my identity, apparently. They had to make sure I wasn’t polyjucied. They do it all the time, even if they know who I am. It’s bloody absurd.” He rolled his eyes in disapproval.

Hermione knew the reason for this additional security measure but stayed quiet. 

Draco inhaled. “What’s that smell? You cooked?”

She beamed and took his hand, leading him to the kitchen where she placed the Shepherd’s pie on the counter. It was still steaming, thus emitting the savory aromas. “I made Shepherd’s pie. Your favorite.” She donned mittens and took the pie to the dining room, which she had already magicked to set itself up with plates and cutlery. Draco sat across from her.

He told her about the meeting that the Hogwarts Board of Governors were to have the next day. The student population skyrocketed over the past few years, which made living spaces packed with students. The governors decided to invest and pitch in for the construction of new dormitories. Draco—the only direct descendant of the Malfoy family—has taken the seat in lieu of his father. Hence his trip to Gringotts. 

“What about you?” Draco asked. “How was your day?”

“Well, I slept for most of it. Watched some cartoons, read a book… and…” Hermione hesitated. “Ginny called.”

If she didn’t know Draco as well as she did, she wouldn’t have noticed the vein jump from clenching his jaw. “Yeah? What did the She-Weasel want?”

 _After all these years, he still refers to her as the She-Weasel,_ Hermione thought. Outwardly, she said, “just checking up, is all.”

He dropped his fork, and it clanged noisily with the plate. “Did she try to convince you to break up with me again?” His tone was poisonous. 

Hermoine gave a noncommittal shrug.

Draco shook his head, nostrils flared. “Unbelievable. Can’t mind her own bloody business, can she?”

“Yeah, but we’re friends, Draco. It’s what we do.” There was a pause. “By the way, you forgot your phone at home again.” She added to alleviate the tension.

Draco never liked any of Hermione’s friends. Every time they were invited to a Weasley brunch with everybody present, Draco would pass and make up excuses not to join. In the same way, her friends weren’t too keen on him either. They only tolerated him for Hermione’s sake, but they wouldn’t otherwise. Strangely enough, out of everyone, Draco got along with Luna the most. Hermione reckoned it was because Luna didn’t ignore his presence completely every time he entered a room.

Hermione continued, “anyway… our anniversary is next week.” She perked up, giving him a cheerful smile. “What are our plans?”

“I dunno.” Hermione could tell that his sour mood had been made even worse by Ginny.

She ignored it, pretending not to notice. “We could go to Greece. Santorini isn’t crowded this time of year. Or we can go to America. Oh, or South Africa. I’ve got friends from there who—”

“Anywhere’s fine.” Draco stood abruptly from the table, leaving his unfinished pie on the plate.

Hermione stared at his empty seat for a while with her mouth agape. 

_Did he just walk out on me?_ She thought.

The chair scraped the wooden floor as Hermione stood and followed him out of the dining room. The bedroom door was open, and she found him inside, undoing his cufflinks.

“Draco, what’s wrong? You haven’t even finished your food.”

He turned his back to her and didn’t make a sound.

“We can just stay at home if you don’t fancy a holiday.” She approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Draco—”

He shook it off. “She’s right,” he said under his breath.

“What?”

“Potter’s wife is right. ‘M not good enough for you.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “We’ve been over this. I don’t care what other people think.” She placed herself in front of him and put her hands on either side of his face. “You’re what I want.”

“Don’t be stupid.” He let himself out of her grasp, walking to the loo.

“Draco, don’t walk out on me when I’m not finished speaking.” She said in a different tone from earlier. This time, she was hurt at his treatment of her, especially when she made food just for him. She didn’t even like Shepherd's pie.

He paused, back still turned to her. As if in slow motion, he pivoted on his heel to look at her. “What do you want?”

“To have a normal conversation.” She took three tentative steps towards him. “Talk to me. Why did you say she was right?”

“Because she is. You should just break up with me. Nobody else thinks this… this relationship is a good idea.”

If Hermione was hurt, she didn’t show it. “Do _you_ think that way?”

He poked his tongue on the inside of his cheek. “Doesn’t matter what I think.”

“It matters to me. If you tell me you don’t want to do this anymore because of what other people think, then you’re a fool.” She said, her face heating up. “Now… is that what you want?”

It took him a while to respond. Every second felt like a hammer to her heart. Finally, he shook his head. 

Hermione was relieved, but her face was stoic. “Thought so,” she paused. “Besides, once Scorpius is born, everyone’s going to love him.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

Draco never talked about his unborn child if he could help it. When he did, he never said good things. “A bloody infant isn’t going to do us good, Granger.” He said with a frown.

“Take that back.”

He challenged her by staying silent.

Hermione said, “Take that back, Draco. Scorpius is the best thing that’s ever happened to us.” Protectively, she placed her hand atop her belly

He shook his head. “You never even told me you wanted a child.” He started to walk away.

She took his elbow and forced him to turn around. “Would it have changed anything?”

“What about me, Granger? Hmm? Did you ever think to ask _me_?” He stalked towards her slowly in an effort to intimidate her. 

Hermione was stunned into silence. 

“Did you ever think that maybe I don’t want brats running around?” He walked away from her again. _He does that a lot, walk away_. Under his breath, he said, “for fuck’s sake, I can’t believe I was careless enough to forget about the bloody contraceptive charm.”

“You don’t mean that.” Tears blurred Hermione’s vision, and she blinked them away. “You have no idea how… how incandescently _happy_ I am that we’ve conceived something as great as this—”

“Happy?” Draco scoffed coldly. “Cut the crap, Granger. You and I both know you’re just too ashamed to abort it.”

She stared at him with her mouth wide open. A pin dropping would be thunderous in the otherwise silent bedroom. The look on his face was enough to send her heart under a bus. “I can’t believe you just said that. How can you be so… so _cruel_?” she half-whispered.

His nostrils flared, but he said nothing. He leaned against the doorframe and ran his hand over his platinum hair.

Hermione’s emotions hit her so strongly; she had to sit on the bed so as not to lose her balance. “Maybe Ginny was right,” she said, dazedly staring at the floor.

She heard rather than saw Draco huff indignantly. “Yeah. Maybe.” At that, he left her bedroom.

Draco did not sleep with her that night. Either he slept on the spare bed in what was going to be Scorpius’s bedroom or on the sofa. Hermione didn’t know. 

It was an hour past midnight, and Hermione was trying to cry herself to sleep. Tears made her sleepy, but her mind was unforgiving. It replayed the fight over and over in her head until Draco’s indignance was burned onto the backs of her eyelids. She felt crushed. Not even Scorpius was there for her. She had felt around for hours for at least just a small kick, to no avail. He was sad, too.

She knew that Draco didn’t mean it. He just… he was raised by a dictator-like figure, and deep down, he feared he was going to be just like his father. Yes. That was all. Or at least, Hermione tried to convince herself that it was.

And then there was the issue of their relationship. For eight years, they had resolved everything but this. Draco always thought he wasn’t good enough for her, no matter how many times she tried to reassure him that she didn’t think so. Was this really the end? When the sun would rise, did that signify a time’s-up on their eight-year relationship?

With all her heart, Hermione prayed to whoever deity was listening. She asked for a sign, even if it was just a small sign to show her what she was supposed to do. 

Hermione drifted into a fitful slumber, dreaming of nothing but a little boy with blonde hair and brown eyes. He looked to be about six. 

Scorpius. 

He was standing in an empty, vast room. The room was red. He appeared to be looking for someone, something… Hermione didn’t know. She called out to him, but he didn’t hear her. She ran towards him, then, but it felt like running backward, for every step towards him only increased the distance between the two. So she screamed louder for her little boy… her little boy who was still confused and disoriented. 

And then, all of a sudden, he turned to Hermione, his big brown eyes locking onto hers.

He opened his mouth. “Mum?”

Hermione jolted awake, panting. The duvet was completely soaked through with her sweat. She clutched her swollen belly and cried for what felt like hours. 

_This. This_ was her sign. Her little boy, Scorpius, was the sign. Whoever was up there, they told her to do it for him. _He deserves the world_ , she said to herself.

So she stood from her damp bed to dry it with a simple charm. After freshening up, she headed to the kitchen and brewed some tea. 

All the while, there was something in the pit of Hermione’s stomach that seemed… off. She shook her head to dispel any thoughts that led her to spiral sometimes. Instead, she focused on pressing tea leaves.

Draco emerged from Scorpius’s nursery.

Hermione had already prepared him a cuppa, complete with cream and one sugar, the way he liked it. She had also reheated the pie from last night. She heard him open the refrigerator in search of something to eat.

She wasn’t sure whether he was still cross with her from last night, but to test the waters, she said quietly, “I made you breakfast.”

He turned, staring at the pie and tea. “Thanks,” was all he said.

He settled into the stool by the counters and ate in silence. 

She was finished with her own cuppa and pie, so with nothing to preoccupy herself, Hermione started absently opening cabinets and reading labels of jars, boxes, and bottles. Finally, she channeled her more Gryffindor-esque qualities and worked up the courage to speak.

She shut the cabinets and turned to him, surprised to find him fully dressed for the Hogwarts Board of Governors’ meeting. Hermione cleared her throat, and his steel eyes met hers. “I didn’t mean it. Last night, I didn’t mean it. What I said… it wasn’t…” she paused. “I didn’t mean what I said.”

Draco looked down, eating his food in silence. Hermione assumed he was still angry. After what felt like hours, however, he replied with a quiet, “me too.”

She settled on the stool next to his, glad that they were reconciling without sex. They almost _always_ made up with sex. It wasn’t healthy. This was a step in the right direction if she ever saw one.

He finished his meal and stood.

Awkwardly, Hermione asked, “you’re leaving already?”

He nodded. “The meeting starts in ten minutes. I’ll be home after.”

He collected his wand and wallet from the coffee table, picking up the bag of money from Gringotts in the process.

At the back of her mind, there was a nagging sensation that something was wrong. Hermione could not point out precisely what it was, but she felt… off.

As he headed to the floo, Hermione caught up to him. “Wait,” she said pathetically. “Maybe… maybe you should stay here.” She grasped his forearm.

He cocked his head at her. “Why?”

“I–I’m not sure. I have a bad feeling about today, and I just… I dunno. Can you just stay?” She asked with her pride on the ground.

His brows drew together. “I really can’t, Granger. The Board needs to reach the quorum for the dormitories to be built. I’ll come home right away, though.”

“I…” Hermione hesitated. “Okay. Just be quick.”

“I will. You stay here, alright?”

Hermione nodded, letting go of his sleeve. He tilted her chin up with his index finger and leaned in to press a chaste kiss on her warm lips.

When they pulled apart, Hermione whispered softly, “I love you.”

He gave her a small smile. “Me too,” he replied.

And he was gone.

Three hours later, Hermione was very close to storming the doors of Hogwarts and demanding for her boyfriend. Something was very wrong. She had a feeling Draco was involved, and her anxiety was through the roof. She tried to calm down by knitting, reading, watching telly, sleeping… but nothing was to be done. 

What was worse was that she could not get the pesky dream out of her head. She was bothered over her son’s sad expression, and it probably manifested because Scorpius had yet to kick today. He was evidently still heartbroken over his parents’ row the night before, and Hermione tried everything to cheer him up.

By four o’clock, Hermione donned her robes and boots, fully prepared to floo.

And then, it happened.

_Agony._


	2. blood

_Agony._

A sharp pain stabbed through Hermione’s lower abdomen, knocking her knees out and toppling her over in the process. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. She screamed. There were fists in her stomach. Fists that were wringing its contents like wet towels. She was warm all over. She screamed again as her vision seemed to flicker in and out. Why was she so hot? Where was this coming from? 

As her vision reappeared in small random spots, she saw red. Her fingers reached down and…

Blood.

Everywhere, blood.

On the floor, on her robes, her shoes, the rug...

Between her legs.

_Between her legs._

That was why she was so warm. _She was covered in her own blood_.

She knew what this meant.

“ _NO!_ ”

Another wave of the excruciating ache ripped through her again, and she screamed her throat raw. She was shaking, trembling like a leaf in the wind. Somebody had to be doing this. It felt exactly like the Cruciatus curse, except all of the curse’s power was wholly concentrated on her abdomen.

Hermione clutched her stomach. “No! _Scorpius_!” 

She shimmied her pants and knickers off, scooped the blood from the floor, and tried to force it back between her legs. “ _No, no, no, no, no, no, no._ You’re going to be okay, my sweet boy. You hear me? Mummy’s going to make this all better.”

Her unforgiving mind punished her by showing her glimpses of her dream from the night before. The red room. Scorpius, looking confused, forlorn, and so out of reach…

Her baby’s life flashed before her eyes. The moment she realized she was pregnant, the stirrings, when she found out the sex, and every single time she watched cartoons or read books to her and Draco’s son.

_Draco! Draco could help!_

Frantically, she searched for her wand. It was atop the coffee table, five feet away. Hermione agonizingly dragged her body towards the table, smearing blood all over the living room. She was still screaming.

“Why is there _so much_ blood?” Hermione cried helplessly. Except, it wasn’t just blood. There were other things mixed in the red mess, as well. If she didn’t know any better, they looked like bits of placenta...

“ _Expecto pat_ –argh! _”_ She yelled the incomplete spell as another wave of pain washed over her like a tide. She now felt the blood freely rushing out of her at a dangerously alarming rate. She was practically swimming in the pool of it. 

The tempting lull of unconsciousness tickled the back of her mind. Slowly, it spread towards the front, but Hermione fought against it. The serene blackness threatened to take over her body, promising her that it will be painless, and sweet, and quiet. No more of this wretchedness, no more of this suffering.

No.

It took her whole heart, mind, and soul to stay awake. She would do it for Scorpius. She needed to do it for him. She raised her wand.

“ _Expecto patronum!”_

Nothing happened.

“No, no, no, why isn’t it working?”

Two more failed attempts told her that she was in too much pain. No memory was joyful enough for her to channel into a decent, corporeal patronus. She tried recalling the day she found out she was a witch, holidays spent with Harry and Ron, and her first kiss with Draco. Every single time, fresh waves of pure, uninhibited pain washed over her, preventing her from conjuring the otter she was so desperate to see. Hermione felt the whole world turn upside down. She tried the incantation one more time.

“ _Expecto patronum!”_

Nothing.

She tossed her wand, too frustrated to care where it landed. Instead, she shakily reached up the coffee table to grip her cell phone. She took it and dialed Draco’s number.

“Don’t worry, Scorp, Mummy’s got you, okay? You’re gonna be fine, my baby, just stay with me.” She closed her eyes and bit down on her tongue as her body convulsed painfully. The shaking did not stop.

She put the phone to her ear, hoping and praying that Draco’s was not on silent mode.

It wasn’t. Hermione knew that it wasn’t because she heard it ring. It was in the room. She looked around and found the useless silver brick on the couch.

“The one time I needed you to bring your phone, you didn’t...” she cried helplessly.

She dialed Ginny.

She picked up on the third ring.

“ _Hey Hermione, I’m a little busy, can you call later—_ ”

“Ginny! It’s an emergency! I’m bleeding!” She cried into the phone.

“ _Oh fuck! Oh fuck, okay, I’ll be there! Just hang on, okay? I’ll be there—_ ”

The line went dead.

“Don’t worry, Scorp. Your godmother’s coming to save you. Don’t go anywhere, okay? Please, my dear boy? It would hurt Mummy to see you go, and Daddy too. Stay with us, okay?”

This time, the pain knocked her entirely to the floor. Her hair was soaked and dripping in blood. The assault on her abdomen did not stop, but Hermione paid no attention to the agony as she sat up and tried to stuff whatever came out of her back inside.

And that was how Ginny Potter found her, mumbling to herself like a madwoman and gathering blood in her hands only to try and insert it between her legs.

“Holy fuck!” Ginny exclaimed, examining the crimson tragedy that was Hermione’s living room. 

Hermione’s eyes snapped up. “Ginny! Ginny, bring me to St. Mungo’s _NOW_!”

The redhead didn’t bother skipping over the blood—it was everywhere. Her footsteps splashed in the redness as she came over to Hermione and scooped her into her arms with little difficulty. She was athletic, and she silently thanked Merlin that all the weight training had paid off.

“Where the hell is Malfoy?”

“He’s— _argh_ —in Hogwarts for a—” she winced “—meeting.”

Ginny swallowed an insult.

The two flooed to St. Mungo’s.

As soon as they arrived, Ginny approached the front desk with her bloody friend in her arms.

The man behind the desk needn’t be told what to do at the sight of two war heroes covered in blood. He barked some orders into his microphone, and in an instant, two stretchers and a team of four people rushed to take Hermione. They tried to take Ginny too, but she explained that none of the blood was hers. They laid Hermione down and wheeled her to the direction of the operating room.

Someone asked the redhead, “how far along is she?”

“Five months,” Ginny replied.

Before the doors closed, Hermione yelled out, “ _Ginny_! Ginny, please, whatever happens, don’t let them remove the baby!”

The doors shut, silencing Hermione’s cries.

Ginny was dumbstruck for a second, still in disbelief. Not five minutes ago, she had just been training with the Holyhead Harpies, and now, two lives were on the line. Hermione’s screams were remnants of the war, and Ginny never allowed her brain to go down that path if she could help it.

She snapped out of her stupor as someone left the operating room. It had barely been two minutes. She braced herself for the worst.

“Mrs. Potter, we’re going to need the fetus’s father to be here. If he is absent, a parent or a close relative.”

“For what?”

“They need to decide.” The medic said. Ginny cocked her head, and he elaborated. “Unfortunately, only one of them is going to make it. It’s Miss Granger or the baby.”

She narrowed her eyes at the man. “ _What?_ What kind of question is that? Save both of them! Obviously, both of them!”

“I’m afraid that isn’t possible. Both currently have fifty-fifty chances, and they’re each depending on the other. This means if Ms. Granger is chosen to live, the fetus must be removed. If the fetus is chosen, Ms. Granger’s body will not make it,” the medic explained solemnly.

“No, no, no. You have to understand. You must save both of them. You _must_!”

The man said, “Mrs. Potter, you are not in the position to decide. We really need the father to be here—”

“He’ll tell you to heal them both, anyway, so just save all of us the time and do your job!” 

Ginny, however, knew full well that that was a lie. Based on her conversations with Hermione, she understood that he wouldn’t blink twice before terminating her pregnancy. He never wanted a baby in the first place, so this would be the perfect opportunity for him to opt out.

The medic gulped at Ginny’s outburst. “With all due respect, Mrs. Potter, I am legally obligated to proceed no further unless the father, a parent, or a relative is here to make the decision.”

“That’s ridiculous, why can’t you ask Hermione herself?”

“She’s currently fluctuating between consciousness and unconsciousness. She doesn’t have much time.”

Ginny gulped, threatened by the prospect of a Hermione-less life. “Okay. Yes, I’ll contact the father.” The man disappeared behind the blue doors.

Ginny knew what needed to be done. She wasted no time. “ _Expecto patronum!”_

* * *

Draco Malfoy was bored. 

He was surrounded by all the old people in the world as they droned on and on about investments and stocks. He didn’t need any of that. Long ago, his ancestors already solidified a very advantageous deal concerning Hogwarts. Well… advantageous for the Malfoys, anyway.

There was someone else who was bored in the room, and it was none other than the Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. Her eyes were glazed over, and Draco tried not to laugh as she _tsk’_ ed at one of the men’s weak attempts at flattery.

All of a sudden, a bright blue light galloped into the room.

_Wait… galloped?_

It was a patronus in the shape of a horse, and it was looking directly at him. Everyone in the room paused at the spectacle.

The horse had the voice of the Weaselette. “Malfoy—it’s Hermione. Come to St. Mungo’s. Now.” The horse’s light dispersed.

 _What?_ Draco’s thoughts spiraled. _Why would Hermione be at the hospital? I asked her to stay home. Something had to have happened to her, something bad. This can’t be happening. No, no, no, not her. Anyone but her._

Draco barely had time to realize what was happening when McGonagall said, “Mr. Malfoy, what are you waiting for? Time is of the essence.”

The old witch was standing next to the door and beckoning him with her hand. He did not question why she did so, but he bolted out of his seat and followed her to the nearest floo, leaving all the old people confused in their wake.

“What was that? What happened?” The witch asked as she and Draco ran from the conference room.

“I… I don’t know. Something’s wrong.”

Together, they flooed to St. Mungo’s.

The sight that greeted Draco was horrifyingly spine-chilling.

There were patches of blood scattered on the floor, and they had to watch their footing as the blood made the floor slippery. Medics were running in and out of rooms, and children were crying. Everything reeked of death.

Ginny Potter came out of nowhere, looking as if she walked right off the 1998 Battle of Hogwarts. Blood was everywhere, but the biggest blossom was found around her middle, extending to her arms. She barreled into him and pushed his shoulders back roughly. “ _You_! You despicable, horrible, loathsome _fuck!”_

McGonagall pulled her away from Draco. “Ginevra! I beg your pardon. This is a public place—”

She ignored her. “You’re a selfish asshole, and I wouldn’t have called if they didn’t absolutely need it!”

“What exactly is happening here?” McGonagall demanded.

“Hermione’s miscarrying, Professor.” Ginny’s voice broke on the second word. “Malfoy’s going to have to choose between her or her son.”

“Where is she?” was all he asked in a flat voice, void of all emotion.

“In there,” she jabbed her thumb to the right, and sure enough, it was the busiest operating room, from the looks of it. 

He moved to walk towards the room, but Ginny shoved him back harshly. “Before you make any decisions…” her finger intruded his personal space as she pointed it at him. “I know you, Malfoy. I know you want that baby gone, but I’m telling you now that Hermione asked me _specifically_ to make sure your son is saved. You must tell them to save them both. _Both_ , Malfoy. Do you understand?” 

He attempted to push her out of the way, but Ginny only extended her arm to prevent him from moving. “I said. Do. You. Understand.”

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY!” He shoved her arm out of his path, not caring if he hurt her in the process.

Draco went over to the room and attempted to push the doors open. They were locked. He pounded on them angrily. Other patients from outside were watching, but he didn’t give a flying fuck. He needed to see her.

The same medic from earlier emerged and locked eyes with Draco. If he thought Ginny looked awful, this man looked absolutely _gruesome_. “You’re the father?”

“Yes.”

“Look, you’re going to have to choose.”

“No. Let me in.”

“I’m afraid I can’t—”

“ _Let me in_!” Draco tried to get past him, but as soon as the man was out of the way, invisible wards prevented him from opening the doors. Draco tried pounding on them again, to no avail. “Granger! Granger, it’s me!” 

After three futile attempts, the blond turned to the medic. “Let me in. Now.”

The medic said, “I can’t do that, sir. The patient is in a controlled environment, and just about anything can set her off. Now… sir, I need you to choose. It’s the girl or the baby.”

Draco exhaled, on the brink of hysteria. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ginny with her nostrils flared and a furious expression on her face. McGonagall donned a look of worry. All her wrinkles huddled together.

Not three heartbeats passed when he said, “the girl lives.”

“ _NO!”_ Ginny protested.

“Certainly, sir.” The medic nodded solemnly, and before he slipped back into the operating room, Draco took him by the collar of his uniform.

“She lives, do you hear me? If Granger doesn’t make it out alive, I will hunt you down. I will kill you and make it look like a bloody accident, so _don’t you dare botch this_.”

The man looked ready to object, but the loudest, most agonizing wail was heard from inside the operating room. It was Hermione.

As the medic disappeared behind lime green doors, Draco tried to crane his head to catch a glimpse of his girlfriend. Alas, he only saw the bloodied hospital staff. The door shut.

“You bloody git. I knew you’d get rid of him, I just knew you would. This is what you wanted, wasn’t it? Yeah, I bet you’re _real_ fucking happy, huh?” Ginny seethed. The only thing holding her back from cutting off his air supply was the Headmistress herself.

“And what did you think I’d do, hmm? Did you think I’d just _kill_ Granger? Maybe that’s what _you_ want, Weaselette. She’s the only person closer than you are to Scarhead and Sidekick. What a heroic way to get rid of her, right?”

Ginny’s face turned the color of her hair. “Fuck you! Hermione’s my best friend, how dare you say that! You know what,” She shoved McGonagall’s arms off her body. “There’s no chance in _hell_ she won’t break up with you now. And good riddance, too, so she can find somebody who isn’t so fucking worthless! I hope she hates you for what you just did. You’re scum.”

At that, Ginny pivoted on her heel and took a seat on the other side of the room, away from Minerva and Draco. 

* * *

  
  


Thirty-three hours later, Hermione woke up.

Nobody noticed at first. They were all solemnly silent after the emotional confrontation between Harry, Ron, and Draco. The twosome had arrived suddenly, having been summoned by Ginny, and they did nothing but remind Draco why he wasn’t fit to be breathing the same air as Hermione. McGonagall, ever the mediator, urged them to stop before Hermione woke… which was anytime now.

Her eyes were open. They were staring glassily at the ceiling, sans emotion.

Harry was the first to notice.

“Hermione?”

Suddenly, all heads swiveled to her. Sure enough, her eyes were open. Unseeing, but open. Everybody moved closer to her. Ron immediately pushed a button to notify the medics of her consciousness.

She blinked once. Twice. And then…

“Where’s Scorpius?” Her eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling. 

Nobody answered her.

Finally, Hermione averted her gaze from above, making eye contact with the redheaded girl. “Where’s Scorpius, Ginny?” she repeated quietly.

Ginny started tearing up. She shook her head.

Hermione didn’t accept her answer. Instead, she looked at Draco. “Draco, where is he?”

Ginny’s bloodshot eyes darted to Draco. They narrowed into slits.

It took him a while to realize that everybody was staring at him. He gulped. Finally, Draco shook his head solemnly. “He’s… he’s gone.”

Hermione’s eyes went back to the ceiling. Nobody knew what to do. She was lying there, frozen as ice, no tears or signs of sorrow in sight. And then, her arms moved. From her sides, she felt up her waist, hesitantly reaching for her now-flattened abdomen. Realization flashed in her eyes as she felt for the absent curve.

Hermione’s four other friends chorused an incoherent apology.

“—so sorry for your loss, ‘Mione—”

“—my condolences—”

“—not your fault—”

“—if there’s anything I can do—”

“—too young to be taken away like that—”

“—in a better place now—”

“—nobody deserves this—”

Hermione interrupted them all. “Can everybody please leave?” She asked, her voice completely emotionless.

Draco was prepared for a meltdown. He was prepared to take her in his arms when she cried and wailed… but he wasn’t prepared for this.

Nobody questioned her. Minerva was the first to go; her head bowed in despair. And then, Ginny followed her. Then Harry. Ron flashed a glare at Draco before exiting.

Soon enough, Draco was alone with her.

“Granger—” His hand caressed hers gently. It was ice-cold.

“I said everybody.”

Draco retracted his hand. He was hurt, but he understood why she was treating him like this. Slowly, he backed away until he hit the door behind him. He left her room.

Exactly five seconds after the door shut behind him, Hermione let out the most soul-crushing, bloodcurdling sob that penetrated itself into the coldest crevices of Draco’s heart. She was utterly broken and lost, and he wasn’t sure if there was any coming back from this. From the corner of his eye he saw Potter and his wife crying together, Weasley on the floor with his head in his hands, and McGonagall shaking, trying to block out the sound of Hermione’s cries with her palms.

Another scream.

And another.

It didn’t stop.

  
  


* * *

  
  


For the next three days, everybody who came to visit Hermione Granger was sent back home. Neville, Luna, Molly, Arthur, Andromeda, Hagrid, the whole lot. She specifically requested no visitors, not even the five people who watched her wake up. They all went home.

All except Draco.

He stayed for three days in the waiting lobby outside her room, only Scourgifying himself when necessary and summoning a house-elf for fresh clothes. All the pureblood training on hygiene from his youth went out the window. Finally, the staff told him that Hermione was to be discharged soon and that she needed assistance to go home.

He entered her room, finding all the cords disconnected from her body. The machines were no longer whirring and dripping with one liquid or another. She looked relatively better. She was also still dressed in the hospital gown, even if the clothes she came in were next to her on the bed.

He put on a tentative smile for her. “Ready to go?”

She gave a single nod. Hermione gathered her things and walked past him to the floo network. 

She went first. Draco followed after her, and as soon as he arrived at her flat, his eyes went wide as saucers.

There was blood everywhere. On the floor, the rug, the coffee table, even some splatters on the couch. There were streaks on the floor that suggested Hermione had dragged her body across the living room to reach the table, and then, imprinted in blood were the footsteps of someone he could only assume as Ginny Potter as she took Hermione to St. Mungo’s. Not to mention the smell. All the dried blood’s odor permeated the apartment’s air, not allowing him to take a breath without the painful reminder of his girlfriend’s suffering. His imagination went wild as he thought of possible scenarios. Whatever he had imagined, however, was probably not as bad as what had actually happened. Only then did Draco realize the magnitude of her miscarriage. It was bloody _explosive_.

It looked like someone had been killed in the living room. And then, Draco realized that someone _had_.

Hermione held her wand up expressionlessly to Scourgify the blood.

“Look, Granger… I’m really sorry I didn’t listen to you that day. When you told me to stay at home. I wish I had. If only I’d listened, then maybe…” he trailed off. 

She gave no indication that she heard him.

He continued, scrambling for something to say. “I’m also sorry I forgot to bring my phone. There’s no one to blame but me, and I’m… I’m so sorry.”

Again, nothing from her.

So Draco sat in uncomfortable silence, helping her Scourgify the remnants of their lost child. When everything looked spotless, she slowly walked to their bedroom, presumably to change out of the hospital gown. Draco followed her.

He awkwardly stood by the door, watching her move. Twice, her hand drifted to rest atop her belly, but it fell through because of the lack of surface area. When this happened, her face broke, a tear slipped, and she schooled her features just as quickly. Draco was convinced it was just his imagination.

She sat on the edge of their bed as soon as she was clad in her pajamas. Finally, she spoke. “We need to talk,” she said, not looking at him.

“Okay.” He replied, relieved at hearing her voice. He sat next to her, taking her right hand in between his. “Let’s talk. Erm… like I said earlier, I’m really sorry about not listening to you when you asked me to stay, and about my phone. Hermione Granger, I would never… I–I never meant to hurt you.”

Hermione nodded, her face clean and passive. “It’s okay.”

“Hmm? It’s... okay?”

“Yes.”

“Oh… erm…. thanks.” She had once again caught him off guard. On the way home, Draco braced himself for accusations, nit-picking, and a lot of yelling. He didn’t expect this… this shell of the woman he once knew responding with utmost politeness. He tentatively caressed the back of her hand with his thumb. “How are… how are you feeling?”

Hermione gave him the saddest smile he had ever seen, but otherwise didn’t dignify him with a verbal answer. Instead, she said, “I heard the medics say you decided to terminate the pregnancy.”

He gulped, expecting this. “They made me choose. You or the baby. And I wasn’t going to lose you, Granger.”

“You should have negotiated.” She said kindly, no trace of anger or regret. “But then again, I’m not surprised. You never wanted him.”

He ignored the second part of what she said. “Negotiated? There was nothing I could do. It was one or the other.”

She took five heartbeats of silence before speaking. “I think we’ve got to stop this.”

“Stop?”

“Yes.”

“Like… like… you’re breaking up with me?”

“Yes.”

“What?” Draco was shaking his head like a lunatic. “Because I chose you?” He looked at her incredulously. “Granger, there was no ‘negotiate’ option, okay—”

“I mean,” she paused. “Regardless of your decision… we should just stop. This relationship isn’t a good idea, and we’re falling apart at the seams—”

“No. No, we aren’t. Look, Granger, I know what this is about. It’s about how I always fuck up when something good happens. I’ll be a better man for you. I promise you this time, I will.”

She only smiled sadly, not meeting his eyes. Her face was blank, as if they could be exchanging pleasantries about the weather, or how she liked her tea. He hated it. He absolutely hated it. Every second of looking at her apathetic face felt like shards of glass piercing his heart.

Draco slid from the bed and knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his. “I’ll be a better man, I promise. I’ll… I’ll bring my phone everywhere, even if I’ll never need it anyway, because I’ll always be by your side. I won’t leave you anymore, and I won’t fight with you over anything. I’ll give you whatever you want, Granger. Just… just be with me.” 

She shook her head slowly. “No, Draco. We can’t make this work anymore.”

“Yes, we can. It will take some time, but I’m willing to wait for you to heal from this… this mourning. I’ll do it. Just please be with me.”

“No, Draco, I—no.”

“Don’t make any decisions right now, love. Get some sleep. You’re sad, possibly angry, your head is clouded, and so is your judgment—”

“On the contrary, my head hasn’t been clearer,” she retorted. 

And then he remembered what she wanted from him since the day she told him she loved him. Something that seemed so frivolous to him. Something he didn’t bother dwelling on, because he knew Hermione wouldn’t insist.

He could marry her.

Of course... that was the solution. This would solve all their problems. He’d never leave her side again, and she would have no more reasons to doubt him. In his mind, Draco saw her walking down Diagon Alley with him, arms linked, and his mother’s gleaming diamond ring on her finger. He found that view very pleasant, very pleasant indeed. And then, another scenario: Hermione surrounded by two platinum-haired children, laughing and giggling as she read storybooks to them. This one was less appealing, but not a bad sight. This was what she wanted. He was certain.

“Marry me.”

She didn’t even gasp. The expression on her face stayed the same.

Draco carried on, pretending like the look she gave him didn’t trample his resolve. “Marry me, Hermione. I don’t have a ring right now, but I’ll get you the one Father gave Mother when they got engaged. And then I’ll never leave your side again, till death do us part, and all that. We can get married as soon as you want to. Just you and me in the Ministry. Or… or we could have a grand wedding in a Muggle church with flower girls and a reception. And then… we can have children. How many do you want, two? Three? Five? I’ll give them to you. All of them, and I’m going to love them with all my heart, and I’m never fighting with you over kids anymore.”

She looked at her lap. “But that isn’t what _you_ want, though, is it?”

He took her face in his hands. “Look at me, what I want is to be with you… forever.” The words sounded silly coming from him, but he has never spoken truer words.

She shook her head. “We can’t keep doing this. I can’t spend my life waiting for you to come back. I’ve given you so much of me over the past years, and I don’t have anything left for myself anymore, we—” she paused, breathing in. “—we just aren’t... right.”

“No, no, no,” Draco said, hands shaking. He stood and paced across the room. “No, no, no, no. Whichever option I pick, I lose you. Is there anything—any _other_ thing I could do to have you back? Please… I’ll do anything, I mean it. Love, let me… let me make it up to you.”

Hermione's eyes stayed glued to her lap. “Draco, do you… do you know what toxic relationship is?”

Air abruptly left his lungs. He was breathless. “You think we’re toxic?”

“It’s just… we always do this. We fight and make up and fight again, and we usually just resolve it with sex or something equally as unhealthy, but we never _actually_ solve any of our problems. And now you’re offering me everything I ever wanted on a silver platter… but you don’t realize that you’re being unfair. This needs to stop.”

He knelt at her feet again, encircling her waist with his arms. “No. No, Hermione, please. I–I can’t–can’t do anything without you—please. You can’t expect us to just b–break up, Hermione, I would rather _die_ ,” he wheezed, tears forming in his eyes at the prospect of a life without the best thing that’s ever happened to him. He was given ample time to mull his feelings over as he waited for her to wake up in the hospital. Then and there, he vowed to himself that he would be better.

“We talked about this that night, remember? You insisted we break up, so now I’m suggesting—”

“I DIDN’T MEAN IT!” Draco exploded. “All the bullshit I ever told you over the past eight years about not wanting to be together—I didn’t mean it. Any of it. You’re the best part of me.”

“Listen, Draco… I’m always going to love you—”

Before he could stop himself, he abruptly stood and took the potted plant atop the dresser. Within seconds, it ricocheted noisily against the wall on the opposite side of the room. Bits of soil, ceramic clay, and his heart scattered everywhere. 

Hermione didn’t even flinch.

“ _No_! No! Stop that! Stop saying shit like that! Like… like you’re saying goodbye.” Draco cried. He let out the most broken sound, like the sound of his heart splitting into two.

She continued as if she didn’t hear him. “—but one day, you’re gonna find someone whose ambitions align with yours, and you’re gonna love her the right way. But she’s not me.”

The room was spinning. It had to be. Draco didn’t even hear everything she said, as the loudest sound in his ears was the rapid _lub-dub, lub-dub_ of his pathetic heart. He knelt on the ground, wrapping his arms around her middle again. For the first time in his life, he said, “But I’m never going to love anyone else. Not the way I love you. I love you more than I love myself, and I want to fix this and _make_ it right. Don’t do this to us. Please, let me make this right, please.”

“Doesn’t it bother you that that’s the first time you told me you loved me? Doesn’t it bother you that you used it as your last resort? Look… I’m sorry. We hurt more than just each other this time. We got someone else involved. We got Scorp—” her voice broke, and the first indication of emotion actually showed on her face since she woke in St. Mungo’s. At that moment, Draco understood just how deeply her love ran for their son who never was. Hermione’s cool and collected façade crumbled before his eyes. “We got Scorpius involved. He was so pure and innocent and loving and good, but he decided to leave us because we aren’t ready.” She paused. "I... I saw his face, Draco. I dreamt of him, and I saw him. He was so sad and confused. I—" she broke off.

Draco frantically clutched at whatever else he had left to get her back. “He was my son too, and I’m also mourning him—”

“Don’t.”

She wasn’t buying it. Wasn’t buying it at all. There was no way out. She knew, full well that Draco hadn’t given a flying _fuck_ about his son before he died. Maybe not even then. The only reason he felt a sliver of something for the fetus was because Hermione loved it with all her heart. Draco bowed his head on her legs, drying his tears on her pajama pants.

She said, “you don’t get to do that.” There was a pause as Hermione kept her emotions in check. “You don’t get to relate to my pain. You never shared a bond with him. The only thing you did was sire him, but you never fathered him—never acknowledged him. So don’t you _dare_ say that you’re mourning him too, because you and I both know that’s a lie.” She seethed quietly.

“Okay, I–I’m sorry. I won’t. Sorry.”

Hermione began, “So now, I need you—” 

Draco held his breath

“—to pack your things and go.”

Just like that, Draco’s world shattered to pieces. The sob threatened to leave his throat, but he held it in, hoping she’d change her mind in those few seconds.

She didn’t.

“Hermione…” he pleaded. At this point, Draco didn’t even try stopping the flow of his tears. He tightened his arms around her torso in an attempt to desperately get her to listen. “Please, don’t, you’re–you’re _it_ for me, please…”

She stood, and Draco’s hands fell from her body. Her footsteps were slow and steady as she walked to the closet. She pulled out a black duffel bag from within and tossed it on the ground, next to his legs. She didn’t look him in the eye.

He took that as his cue to go.

It broke his heart, mind, and soul to say, “okay. Yeah, I’ll… yeah. Okay.”

He turned to the closet and grabbed the first items of clothing he found. He took everything in sight that he recognized as his, carelessly throwing them into the bag, and forgetting there was a spell to do it more efficiently. He turned, heading for the loo, and bumped into her. “Sorry—sorry, I just… I’m sorry.”

She moved out of his way and into the living room.

Draco stumbled towards the loo, knees shaking as he struggled to stay upright. He grabbed his toothbrush, toiletries, and everything that wasn’t neatly organized on her side of the counter. He knocked over a glass. “Shit.”

As soon as he was packed, he left the bedroom, finding her standing behind the kitchen island, stirring a cup of tea. “Hermione…” Draco choked, pleading for her to look at him and tell him she made a mistake, that they could work everything out somehow...

Nothing.

“Please...”

“I’ll owl you about the funeral. You don’t have to go, but—”

“I’ll be there,” Draco said, seeing it as an excuse to see her more and get back in her good graces. He wasn’t giving up that easily. “And you don’t have to owl me. I’ll come back tomorrow and the day after… j-just so I can make sure you’re doing alright. Just to check up on you.”

She shook her head. “Don’t do that.”

“It’s not like I have anything better to do—”

“I’m moving out.”

“What?” _Moving out? Why would she move out?_ His thoughts ran wild. “Why–why would you move out?”

“I can’t stay here. I… I lost a baby in the living room, I ended an almost-decade-long relationship in the bedroom. There’s... it’s too much. I can’t stay.”

“Okay,” he took two breaths, composing himself. “Where will you go?”

“That isn’t something you need to know.”

Draco gulped, feeling as if hell rose from beneath the ground and swallowed him whole. This was really happening, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. His world was crashing and burning right before his eyes.

Nothing in his life was certain anymore. He picked at the remnants of the man he used to be and found his every defining moment with her. Everything else was grey. Nothing stood out… nothing but her.

He set his duffel bag on the floor with a soft _thud_. He approached her with tentative steps. To his relief, Hermione didn’t walk away or turn his back on him. He pushed her boundaries by standing two feet apart.

“If this really is the last time…” he began, voice wavering and shaky. “Can I ask for one last favour?”

Her sad brown eyes met his. “I’ve already given you so much—”

“I know,” he said, nodding solemnly. “I know, and I’m sorry. But please, let me be selfish… just one last time. And then, after this, I’ll stop. Just… please.”

“What’s the favor?”

His imploring, bloodshot eyes demanded her attention. For the last time, he offered her his heart—raw and beating only for her—on a silver platter. He didn’t care if she took it. It was only ever hers to take. 

“Kiss me.”

Hermione stared at him for what felt like eons. She studied his face as if she were committing it to her memory, the same way he did hers. His eyes darted to her mouth, the soft plump pinkness were doors that, whenever opened, let out the most beautiful sound in the world. Her voice. He traced her mouth with his eyes, remembering every single moment she smiled at him, and he felt like heaven never really mattered. Golden streets, singing angels, and glorious temples paled in comparison to one smile.

Those lips moved, forming one word. 

“No.”

Draco’s resolve crumbled.

“You’re just going to make this harder for the both of us.” She stepped away from him, multiplying the distance between them by infinity—not just physically, but in every way imaginable. The hollow hole in his chest caved in.

Hermione turned her back to him, her posture communicating that she, too, was trying to put herself together. Draco knew this wasn’t easy on her. After all, she invested so much more in this relationship than he did. She was always giving, and giving, and giving, while he was taking, taking, and taking. There was nothing he hated more than himself for breaking her this way.

Hermione did the one thing he wouldn’t ever recover from. Decades would go by, and Draco Malfoy would still see that moment as the day he lost everything.

She left him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank u for reading! drop a comment if u liked it hehe
> 
> Also I have another Dramione one-shot called Dream a Little Dream of Me, and it also deals with separation but in a wholesome way. JK it ain't that wholesome. NO LOL when u compare it w this one it's pretty wholesome!! Check it out if you want :)))) 
> 
> THANKS AGAIN I LOVE U


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